Boonta's Shining Knight
by Lordhadrian
Summary: Baron Rudor, pod racing enthusiast, joins in the Boonta Eve race, and runs into a feisty female Twi'lek racer, and his old enemy Magog, son of Sebulba.


Baron Rudor landed in Mos Eisley after a long tour of planets. Administrative duties and a brand new Officer's commission awaited him.

Training on Corulag led to promising orientations on Coruscant and Brentaal IV. His days in the new Imperial Navy were about to start.

But Valen Rudor was going to use his last days as an aristocrat to engage in his favorite pastime- The Pod Races. And there was not a circuit more prestigious in the Outer Rim than the legendary Boonta Eve.

Valen walked off the shuttle and calmly saluted the guards, but made sure only the guards saw him salute. He was not yet in his clean and pressed uniform. Instead, he wore his old, faded silver and black jumpsuit from his days with the Rudor family Pod team.

Valen was still young, energetic, and full of pride. But he detested special treatment, especially in the raw sport of pod racing. Though he was a modest success in the races on Corulag, he wanted to honorably earn his stripes in other venues.

He wiped out on Malastare twice, but came in 8th the third time he went toe to toe with racer Magog, the ruthless son of Sebulba.

He walked into the city scape as his Pod was being unloaded and shipped directly to the Boonta track. Valen soaked up the local life with joyful anonymity. He didn't put on airs of being a big shot from the Core, and no one bothered him.

"Time for a taste of the good life." He whispered. It was his grand tradition to have a drink in one of the local pubs or cantinas, preferably someplace where he could observe the other racers.

He entered a quiet bar, "Shadout Mape's Place". It was clean and decent, no rowdiness from the locals or the racers. Casually, he sat in a corner table and watched.

Eight racers. Two Duros, probably twins. A very old, dehydrated Mon Calamari. A young Twi'lek woman. Two humans who look like they are rookies starting out. There was also a Wookie who has the same, veteran calm that Valen feels in the calm before the storm.

But the last driver made him frown. Magog, the Dug with a heart of ice. Magog lived up to his father's nasty reputation. Valen almost got into a fight with the agile Dug, accusing Magog of heinous cheats in the heat of the 2nd race on Malastare that caused him to almost burn to death. At the time, Valen had been pulled away by his pod crew. Live to race another day, they told him, and to be grateful he walked away from the crash.

Magog swallowed down two hefty mugs of something unhealthy, and started eyeing the female Twi'lek with malice aforethought.

Valen sighed, wishing he could look the other way, but he could already tell Magog was going to spread his contempt upon the others, and particularly against the woman.

He did not object to women racers, but Valen knew the risks. With good intentions, he tried to dissuade women and females of any species from taking up the dangerous sport. Honorable to a fault. But he noticed that the Twi'lek stood in a very confident pose as she drank from the bar. She was not a frail waif.

He noticed with a smile as Magog tried to intimidate her but she dismissed the short Dug with a comment. Although Valen could not hear what she said, her words certainly twisted their way to stabbing Magog's tarnished masculinity.

The Dug knocked over several tables in anger and poutiness as the woman stared at him, unimpressed.

Valen could not just stand by like the others. He bounced up and stood in between Magog and the woman, whose sown on name tag read "Hera".

"That's enough from you, Magog! I would expect you'd find a better way to waste your time!"

Magog smiled, not feeling threatened in the least. "Valen Rudor! I'm going to love plowing you into the walls of the Boonta Canyons! Coming here was a mistake!"

"You should thank me." Valen grinned as he leaned next to Hera "I wanted you nice and healthy for when I slam you on the track. This patient lady was about to break two of your legs in a nasty way, and Boonta Eve would not be nearly as thrilling if you watched from a hospital bed!"

Magog gave a quick "Pfft!" and grabbed a drink off of someone's table. Magog shuffled off, but he made it a point to peek back at Valen and Hera "See you at the races!"

The woman, Hera, was not entirely impressed with either of them. "How about next time you stay out of my way. I can fight my own battles!"

She rolled her eyes and went back to her drink.

Valen was a little surprised to have his help rebuffed "Well, I just couldn't let him...he might have hurt you."

Hera stirred her drink with a spoon and kept her back to him "I appreciate the effort, but I don't want help from an Imp."

Her tense use of that word made him realize she knew of him. He did not think anyone realized his affiliation yet, or even cared. He suddenly felt a need top defend himself, though deep down he also knew it was pointless.

"I don't bring politics onto the race track, Lady."

Hera's voice strained with controlled politeness "You don't have to. Politics follow you now that you are playing on their team!"

He sighed and backed away. It was the smart thing to do, especially in an outer rim territory that was rather unsympathetic to his dedication to duty.

He went to finish his drink, and prepare for the race.

Time passed, and soon all the racers were in their places. Flags were raised, Jabba shouted praises to the racers like an Emperor, congratulating gladiators that they would die for the Hutt's entertainment.

Valen watched over his pod like a hawk, double checking all the systems and the engine, double checking the power couplings.

Magog was stationed nearby, and he took no chances of foul play. He nearly died on Malastare. He would not make the race so easy for Magog this time.

The announcer called the drivers to start their engines.

The pod cars roared, firing up engines, shaking eagerly to blast off, a flight of dragons across Tatooine's fabled raceway.

Valen managed to look over at the driver next to him.

Hera.

In her jumpsuit and goggles, Valen now noticed, ironically, how much more attractive she was in her racing environment. She was every inch professional, and the more she was covered up in goggles, heavy jacket, and an easy to reach toolbelt for emergencies, the more beautiful she became to Valen.

He gave her a quick salute, the swift movement broke her concentration for a second. She looked over at him. In that moment, they were equals.

Knowing of his future Imperial career did not stop her from noticing his courtesy, one pod racer to another. She nodded to him with an equal approval.

"Good luck", spoken in the racer's language.

She almost smiled. Valen looked equally professional. She realized he was not the Imp Fop she almost took him to be, but the serious racer she had read about and studied as she, too, made a journey to be a pro in the field.

The lights went green, and the pod cars burst forward, deafening the air with fire and thrust.

Magog held back to 3rd place, and Valen was smart enough to steer a few lanes out of any range the Dug could affect him.

Hera's pod stayed back at a comfortable 9th place among the 20 or so racers that swarmed the field.

Valen quickly observed the drivers. He was tied with the Wookie, while the rookie humans zoomed out past Magog.

Valen stayed focused on the track, avoiding the rough, dangerous terrain. He shook his head, though. Taking an early lead was bold and stupid. Anyone in first place was a target.

Especially for Magog, who pushed a small button on his console. His Pod car was a trickster's delight, full of gadgets and traps for the unwary competitor.

One of the gadgets was a missile launcher. magog launched a "blue shell" rocket, that zeroed in on the lead car. The rookie was vaporized in a ball of flame as the missile hit its mark with deadly accuracy.

But that was the thrill of the Boonta Eve. There was no time to mourn the life, or call out the cheat. there was only time to drive, maneuver and survive. Valen stayed close to the wookie, both evened out their speed, using each other as a sort of buffer from other racers. Some of the others tried to be as wily as Magog, but were too slow in their cheating, or unable to multitask. A Rodian driver veered past Hera, trying to shot a pistol at her, but tried too hatrd to aim at her without looking where he was going. Hera sped up as the Rodian slammed into a canyon wall, obliterated.

The Wookie looked over at Valen and both shook their heads. The larger veteran growled, no doubt a comment on the Rodian's errors.

"You said it!" Valen almost shouted, though he realized the risks of trying to converse in the middle of the intense race.

The pod cars reached a valley plagued by snipers. Sand People, the Baron quickly noticed. He had read about them, and started zig zagging as stray bulets peppered through the area. The Sand People were lousy shos, but they heightened the danger of the race.

Hera also compensated as the snipers plinked the side of her car.

But Magog was watching, and saw an opportunity as she dodged several primitive bullets from old rusty desert smoothbores. Magog was a master of tricks and deceptions, a chip off his father. He lobbed a wrench from his cockpit seat out behind him. The wrench twirled up and over into one of Hera's coupling engines, blowing it out.

"Now that's dirty pool!" Valen grumbled. He watched as Hera's pod racer sputtered, bobbed and weaved, finally crashing into the rocky terrain. Hera made as smooth a landing as she could, but was thrown from the pod on impact.

The Baron looked over at the Wookie and sighed. He had reached a fork in the road of destiny, and there was suddenly more at stake now than the race. He saw Magog pull into the lead, laughing at the twisted joke he inflicted upon the hapless Twi' lek. Valen steered hard and turned around, dodging several other late drivers. He could hear them cursing him as if he were an amateur, but he didn't care. No one deserved to be a victim of Magog's mayhem.

He pulled over next to her wreckage and ran out to her. His pit crew at the finish line screamed over the comlink for him to get back in the race, but he switched off communications.

"You okay, lady?" He whispered, looking down at her on one knee. Hera was breathing but unconscious. The crash knocked the wind and senses out of her completely. She was helpless. The exposure of Tatooine's heat would give her new injuries, and there were still snipers pelting the area with random shots. Valen dragged Hera into cover behind some rocks and wrecked pod car pieces.

"I hope you know my chances of getting back at that vicious Dug scum have diminished. Please tell me you are okay."

Hera gasped a short breath, but could barely move. Valen carefully looked her over for any bleeding or badly ruptured wounds. Her jumpsuit was torn, and he picked her up carefully to carry her to his pod car which stayed hovering in a waiting mode.

"What happened?" Hera warbled half awake. She peeked one eye open and saw him looking at her concerned. "I had everything under control." H could not help but admire this Hera's will and determination, even if she was wiped from the race.

"Yes, you did. You crashed, but you handled it as well as you could. Forgive me, Lady, but this pod is built for one occupant. We are going to have to be...rather close."

He sighed as he placed her into the seat and squeezed next to her. He blushed, having never been so close to a female before, certainly not one as beautiful as he noticed her to be. Her half awake eyes glided heavily at him. Her lekku, twitched with sensitivity to his gentle touch. He tried to be careful, but she reacted with his accidental contacts with her. Her torn suit revealed soft skin that disguised her tougher physique. She was built for this kind of danger better than he was.

The snipers were getting bolder and more reckless as he powered up the engine, and there was no time for the luxury of enjoying the pressed beauty next to him.

"Don't get any funny ideas." Hera closed her eyes and tolerated their close predicament.

But Valen was not interested in anything but getting back to the finish line safely. "Certainly. No funny ideas." He concurred and picked up speed to get away from the danger zone. One lucky shot hit a power coupling of her wrecked pod as they gained distance, blowing it up in a plume of glory. Valen sighed, feeling that the only winners in this competition would surely be a brutal Dug and a bunch of backwards Tusken Raiders.

"Thank you." Hera managed, concluding that this Imp pilot was not going to engage in shinanigans "You could have tried to win...but I am glad you came back."

Valen Rudor half smiled. "I hope you would have done the same for me."

Hera half smiled "Nope. I'd pick you up on the victory lap, though." She tried to not wince in pain as her legs and one arm were getting prickly numb from the cramped space.

The wind blew about them as they glided into last place in the fabled Boonta. They lost big, but Valen was about the thrills and freedom of podracing, not the dull trophies that grew dust in a display case. Hera was also the adventurer, always seeking new experiences, and podracing may have filled that quota for the time being. She looked at the stoic, well chiseled Baron Rudor and, for a brief moment, enjoyed the thought of a new adventure with this handsome specimen who forsook riches and fame to save her. But she modeled her stoicism from his, looking straight ahead as he did despite the fact that both of them were rather settling in comfortably with each other in such an intimate spot. She spent much of her young life trying to not give wrong impressions. She had fought off the advances of too many males to let her thoughts dwell on quiet intimate moments with any man, even one as surprisingly superb and honorable as this Imp.

They crossed the finish, humbly floating past the victory party for Magog. The Dug was completely involved in his celebrations, not noticing that Valen and Hera stole a bit of his thunder. Some of the crowd cheers were more for the couple that came in last. Baron Valen had lost the race, but he won something better as he looked into Hera's eyes and saw her smile with genuine gratitude. Such a prize from a fellow racer could not be topped by cheap metals or trinket awards.

They finally reached Valen's pit crew. He had called for a medical ambulance to be ready for her, and medic droids carefully carried her to the vehicle. Valen followed and walked with her.

"You don't have to be so dramatic!" She snarked, slightly irritated that he seemed to wait on hand and foot with her. But she also half smiled that he was a rare breed on a world full of scum and villainy.

"I am not worried about your recovery at all." He also half smiled. "I just wanted to say that I look forward to seeing you at the next Boonta Eve, where I shall soundly defeat you in a fair, level field!"

Hera gave a short laugh "We shall see, my Imp!". The droids prepared to load her away.

Hera and Valen stopped time with a stare. A mutually welcomed stare of two opponents of the race track, but also as two opponents of a bigger competition. Hera was whisked away, and in that absence from each other they both lamented that such a rematch would not happen. Not here, not in the Boonta Eve. Valen would pack up and begin a new day in the Imperial service. He would dream of this moment in time, dream of her beauty and strength. A part of his heart even skipped a little with a wish to see her again in more appealing circumstances. The wily and skilled pilot Hera would make for a different path. Though she would remember this day with a hint of fondness, she knew nothing good could ever come if they met again. She steeled herself to the thought that her next time with Valen Rudor would conclude on a sour note. Their next race would have bigger stakes, a greater prize. The fate of the Galaxy.


End file.
